


Something in the Way

by apodiopsys



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Androgyny, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apodiopsys/pseuds/apodiopsys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would figure that out of the sea of neon that he's currently swimming in, Jared finds the only one dressed all in black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something in the Way

**Author's Note:**

> written as a fill for the [AU Lucifer/Sam and Jared/JDM comment fic meme](http://checkthemargins.livejournal.com/33937.html) at LJ.

Jared has plenty of reasons for dressing up and going out the way he does, he supposes. In the morning, sometimes, he dresses in a pencil skirt and a button down and puts on some lipstick - not red, but pink. He takes the subway; not really going anywhere but going somewhere, going along for the ride, to watch people out of the corner of his eye who are watching him. 

And at night he does more, eases stockings over smooth legs and wears a black skirt that was probably actually a top in another life. His shirt is stretchy cotton, stopping mid-arm. It’s low cut, but in a way that just stretches over his flat chest, clinging to his skin so that at the right angle, it looks like there might be something there. Angling his face right, he can apply mascara and eyeliner and a little bit of eyeshadow to make his eyes huge. He can pull a stick of red lipstick over his lips, smooth it over with clear gloss that smells like vanilla and put mousse in his hair for volume. 

Mostly, Jared does it because it makes him feel pretty. 

No-one notices at these raves, not at the ones he frequents. Or, they notice in the way that it isn’t a big deal, that they really don’t care. The guys dress like he does as often as they don’t, and he stands in a crowd of sweaty bodies swinging to loud music with too much bass, and those people swap kisses and pills. He doesn’t join in very often, content to stand in a corner and observe. Jared doesn’t need to be in the middle to feel like he’s a part of things, and usually, just being there is enough. 

There are times when he is in the center of things, with a drink that’s the color of neon blue-green-yellow-pink in hand. Sometimes he’s on the dancefloor, surrounded by other people, and sometimes he’s on the stage in the club, on the table, on the bar, and usually, lifting his arms up means that his fingers brush the ceiling because he’s six foot plus nine inches of black heels, and he sways to the music, dizzy on mixed drinks and an empty stomach. 

He gets passed between people, sometimes, sharing kisses with strangers he’s never seen before and probably won’t see again, with neon paint on their faces and glowsticks on their wrists. But he always knows when it’s different, like it is now, with one stranger pressed up along his back and not four. His stranger palms his hips, pulls them to a movement completely offbeat but matching his own. 

Drowning in a sea of neon - girls wearing tutus and kandi, guys in jeans that are too tight in red or purple or electric blue, and their hoodies are on the opposite side of the color wheel - Jared has managed to find the only person wearing all black. 

Twisting in his grip, Jared is taller than this stranger and on first glance it’s obvious that he doesn’t belong here, an outsider. He looks too normal, too out of place. His first thought is that he’s sane. And just like that, Jared is his for the night, decides that he wants to take the outsider in. 

The strobelights flash even behind his close eyes, but he draws in the stranger, the outsider, with hooded eyes and parted lips. It’s cute, he thinks, that the stranger tells him his name. “I’m Jeff,” he shouts in his ear, desperate to be heard over a the thudding of the bass. 

Fingers circled around the outsider’s wrist, he says, “I’m Jared.” He doesn’t wait for the moment that it clicks, to see if the one who is obviously the older of the two will do anything when he realizes that maybe he isn’t who he thought he was. Jared leans in and kisses him, one hand splayed out across his cheek, touching his hair with his fingertips. 

His mouth tastes like candy: blue raspberry and cherry ring pops with an alcoholic aftertaste. It’s an addictive flavor. Jeff pulls back for a moment to stare at Jared, so obviously in his element that it’s almost uncomfortable. He dips his tongue past his lips, chases the taste with his tongue, licking and curling and teasing. Underneath it all is vanilla, sticky sweet under the sharp tang, where he presses biting kisses into Jared’s mouth.

The thing about Jared is that he very obviously isn’t female, even if there is something strikingly feminine about him. It’s in the way he angles his hips when he’s standing up straight, how he wears his clothes and holds his head, in the confidence with which he tosses hair out of his eyes and applies more lipgloss while leaned up against Jeff in the privacy of the cab. 

He still hears the thump of the bass, feels it pounding in his ears - or, there’s the possibility that it’s his heart making that noise, thudding out of time to his breaths. Jared isn’t good in the silence, so he twists and ignores the look that the cabbie gives them through the rearview mirror. His kisses are light, teasing things that barely glance off Jeff’s lips. They leave gloss there, but he licks at it until it’s gone, all so that Jared will just leave more. 

“Where are we going?” he asks in a hushed voice, grazing the canines of his teeth along the columns of Jeff’s neck. It makes him shiver, when he thinks about how if Jared bit him, gave him a hickey, he’d have a bruise or imprints of teeth and the scent of vanilla on his skin to prove that this is actually happening. 

Jeff doesn’t know what he’s bringing home with him, this beautiful thing that sways it’s hips while it walks down the sidewalk in the wrong direction. “I’m over here,” he calls after him, and Jared laughs, clear and sparkly. There’s a chance that he’s more with it than Jeff’d first assumed, but even as he’s unlocking his door he has a six foot nine giant climbing him like a tree, tucking skinny fingers into his hair and kissing him with flavored lips.

His entire world narrows down to this: Jared, skinny legs and heels wrapped around his hips, pinned to the wall in his foyer. Jared, smelling like cologne under perfume under hairspray. Jared, with fading khol eyeliner and smudged lipstick, collarbones and hips so sharp they could cut like razors. And Jeff can feel him, hot and heavy and hard against his thigh, pre-come leaking through the skirt and onto his faded black jeans. 

He has half formed ideas flitting across his minds eye; images of Jared on his knees, glossy lips stretched wide and obscene around his cock; images of Jared on his back, nine inch heels and stockings still on his legs while Jeff fucks him within an inch of his life; images of Jared riding him, completely naked and at his own mercy. Jeff wants everything and he wants it all at once, and just by this, he wants it forever.


End file.
